


exactly who we are

by Awriterwrites



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Always, Director!Harry, Famous Harry, Homophobia, M/M, Non-Famous Louis, Smooching, a wee bit of groping, teacher!Louis, they bring out the best in each other, very small mention of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 08:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8136950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awriterwrites/pseuds/Awriterwrites
Summary: “Fuck this. I’m out.” He stood up, dropping the bag of popcorn to the floor and straightening his shirt that had ridden up over the top of his jeans. He adjusted himself, both his clothing and what was underneath them, feeling more than a little interested in the stranger who was watching him with guarded interest. 
“You coming?” he tossed out as he slipped out the aisle, heading out into the bright London afternoon. 
Louis didn’t need to look over his shoulder. He was.
****A stolen afternoon locked away in a dark pub was all they needed to find each other.  To find themselves.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluegreenlarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegreenlarry/gifts).



> This was a fun prompt to write! I made a few changes based on where the characters took me. I hope you like it bluegreenlarry.
> 
> Based on this prompt: Person A is a famous film director. Person B goes to the movies to watch a film of theirs and they end up sitting next to each other. B starts talking about how badly the film is directed without knowing A is the director. B also invites A out for a drink and is really embarrassed when it comes out that they insulted A the whole time. A thinks the whole thing is hilarious and they become a couple.
> 
> I am really, really lucky to have amazing friends who beta for me and give me feedback on my writing. I'll properly credit both of them once this work is revealed. But, for now, my love to you both and thank you for your unending support. x

**exactly who we are**

There was something so satisfying about the way the fluffy white popcorn looked flying through the air against the Technicolor shadows, airborne and scattering haphazardly in the dark theater. The light bounced around the room casting golden yellow and red dust-mote laden colour in all directions. The popcorn rained down like a winter snow storm, light and fluffy, dotting the seats and heads all around.

Louis howled as he threw another fistful of popcorn in the air. “You suck!”

A woman three rows ahead of him turned and angrily shushed him, brushing errant kernels from her long blonde hair.

Louis blew a raspberry at her.

“This sucks,” he said, to no one in particular. He really couldn’t help it. He got like this sometimes. Too loud, too much. Even for himself.

The man sitting to his left shot him a crooked grin with raised eyebrows. Even in the dim light Louis could tell he was handsome. Like movie star handsome. Unlike the schmucks in the bore playing out on the screen in front of him.

Looking at the man next to him, Louis hissed, “This sucks, right? It’s not just me is it?”

The man, who smiled more deeply now, in earnest, shrugged. He kept looking at Louis as if he didn’t quite know what to say to him. But clearly, at least from Louis’ perspective, the dude wanted to chat him up. He was himself, after all.

And Louis, Louis was never one to pass up an opportunity to pick up a beautiful stranger.

Licking his fingers, he angled his body toward the man to his left. They watched each other in the dim light, the shadows accentuating the man’s high cheekbones and deep, wide, round eyes. Louis thought they were green. He couldn’t be sure. Whatever, with a mouth like that he was right up Louis’ alley.

“Go ahead. Say it,” Louis urged.

The man tilted his head, confusion drawing his brows together into a deep set crease.

“It sucks!” Louis practically shouted, tossing more popcorn in the air.

The man barked out a deep, raspy laugh. His mouth opened wide showing perfect square white teeth and the flash of a slippery wet tongue. Louis was pretty sure he _needed_ to know this guy. Or maybe he already did? There was something about him. Something vaguely familiar. Like when a scent crosses paths with your memory and you just aren’t sure where you remember it from? Like that.

The screen lit up in an explosion of color and the speakers boomed with the sound of people screaming and chunks of metal being ripped apart as the fictional city was torn apart by aliens. That was it for Louis. He’d had enough.

“Fuck this. I’m out.” He stood up, dropping the bag of popcorn to the floor and straightening his shirt that had ridden up over the top of his jeans. He adjusted himself, both his clothing and what was underneath them, feeling more than a little interested in the stranger who was watching him with guarded interest. “You coming?” he tossed out as he slipped out the aisle, heading out into the bright London afternoon.

Louis didn’t need to look over his shoulder. He was.

***

It was just something he did sometimes. His mum told him he was crazy for doing it, it didn’t serve any purpose, did it? But he still did.

There was something about watching your film—your blood, sweat and tears—come alive on a movie screen. But it was even more meaningful to see it through the eyes of the audience for which it was intended.    It was different somehow than sitting in a fancy theater with celebrities and critics and the who’s who of the movie industry full of champagne and self-importance. More real. More _authentic_.

Harry stretched out his long legs and tried to get comfortable. So far so good, he thought, as he looked around the theater and observed the faces of the various members of the audience. Most people were rapt with attention and engrossed in the big budget sci-fi film convulsing and splattering its way across the screen.

He fixated on an older couple a few rows down and to his left. Not his demographic. Interesting.

The woman leaned into the man a few times during the gory opening sequence, making the man toss a protective arm around her. Harry nodded in agreement. It was a little scary. Must be nice for them to have each other. He smiled softly and looked around a bit more.

Whoa.

What was that? Rather, _who_ was that?

Harry’s eyes had landed on a guy sitting directly right of him, just two seats over. The man was petite and bouncing in his seat like a jumping bean. His feathery soft hair flopped over his eye as he made disgruntled sounds and talked to himself, loudly, about the movie. Harry was captivated by his profile. Small button nose, strong chin, auburn scruff and high, sharp cheekbones made him alluring. But it wasn’t just that. There was something magnetic about him. About his personality.

Harry looked for the unusual in the most usual of places. His eyes were trained to find beauty in common places and to see the strange in the mundane. And this man, this boy, was one of the most unique and spectacular things he’d seen in a long time.

As a director, Harry knew he was probably more in tune to his surroundings than most people. He also knew that he saw and observed things differently than most. In all of his years working in Hollywood—well, only five years, really, but—Harry had never seen anything so intriguing. This man was so interesting, just yammering on about “ridiculous plot” and “he had more talent in his pinkie” and actually throwing popcorn into the air? Throwing it. Like a five year old.

And that. That was insanely attractive.

And Harry had no idea why. There was just something about him.

“You suck!” The boy shouted, earning him the baleful stares of a few moviegoers around him.

Harry felt his mouth fall open. Who was this person? There was this kind of magnetism to the man sitting to his right. He wanted to know him. _Get_ to know him.

The boy’s eyes slid toward Harry and Harry was pretty sure they widened just a fraction, the sparkly indigo flashing in the bright lights of the explosion on the screen. Harry felt his mouth move of its own volition. He couldn’t help but smile at the boy. He was so freaking cute, was the thing.

“Go ahead. Say it,” the smaller man said, his bangs flopping into his eyes. He flicked them off with a careless movement of the hand and wrist.

Harry was confused. He couldn’t imagine what the good looking guy was getting at, and he couldn’t really concentrate…he was distracted by the gentle slope of the bones anchoring his hand to his arm at his wrist. He was almost dainty, fragile looking, but Harry was sure he was anything but…if his mouth was anything to go by. He was about to ask when the spritely object of his fascination shouted out, “It sucks!”

Harry couldn’t help it, he lost it. He threw his head back and laughed, loud and hard. He was usually kind of embarrassed about his laugh, especially the one he was doing now, but he couldn’t hold back. This guy was just funny. And endearing. And hot as hell. Still. Harry shouldn’t encourage him. He was making fun of his movie after all. Not just making fun of it—saying it sucked—which, well. That should be making him angry. But it wasn’t.

Harry was shaking off the last of his laughter when he noticed the man leaving the aisle. Harry felt panic rise in his throat in a momentary paralysis. No! What was happening? He was leaving.

It must have been the damn laugh.

Just as he was about to try and say something, anything—even a noise would do—the curvy boy turned and looked at him. Harry felt something different than panic overtake him. It was lust. The way the low light and flashes of muted color hit the boy’s curved back and bum, the shirt he was wearing just sheer enough to show Harry the full swoop of his backside and the rounded musculature of his thighs…it was something to behold.

“You coming?” the man sing-songed coyly.

Yeah he was coming. There was no way in hell Harry was missing this.

***

Louis led the tall man down the street. This was his neighborhood, his playground, after all. As a middle school teacher, Louis knew a thing or two about needing to blow off a little steam and he knew just the place. Norm’s was a little hole in the wall built into the basement of an old office building. You had to actually walk around to the rear of the building and down the stairs to find it—that’s how out of the way it was. You had to be really looking for it.

As they turned the corner, entering the dank alleyway behind the busy street, the man trailing behind Louis paused. “Ummm…”

Louis turned and met the other man’s eyes. His eyes were bright green in the white light of day. They flashed with trepidation. “What?” Louis heard himself ask, a bit brusquely.

“Where are you taking me?” The man’s voice was deep and sultry, like the feeling of jazz on a rainy November evening, warm and all encompassing.

Louis considered him for a moment, eyeing the stranger openly. “I’m Louis,” he said suddenly, thrusting his hand out.

The other man’s mouth turned up into a crooked smirk. Louis was sure he was in trouble, just looking at him. “Harry,” he replied, reaching out to shake Louis’ outstretched hand.

“So. Now we’ve met. We’re not strangers,” Louis explained to a confused looking Harry. “So, like, we’re not strangers, right? That like cuts your chances of being lured to your death down by…almost half.” Louis shrugged and waited for Harry to respond.

Harry shook his head and frowned. “I’m not sure…that’s not exactly how it works.”

“Close enough,” Louis sighed, turning on his heel. “You coming?”

For the second time in less than fifteen minutes Harry followed, his footsteps echoing down the empty alley. Louis scampered down the steep set of stairs and walked inside, leaving behind an air of mischief. And mystery.

***

The bar Louis had dragged him to was definitely not Harry’s normal scene. He usually went for the high-end kind of place that offered security and anonymity. This place was…rustic, at best. A real dive, at worst.

The bar itself was in the center of the dark room, brass finishings dulled with age and lack of care. There were stools all around the square bar and some tables scattered around the edges of the room. Directly across from the entrance was a door that led to a room with a pool table and maybe a dart board. It was the middle of the day so the dim lighting took Harry’s eyesight some time to adjust to. When he could finally see somewhat he noted that there were only a few shadowy figures in the corners and recesses of the slightly mildewed space.

Louis bound into the room looking like he had springs in his shoes. He radiated energy.

“Louis!” the bartender bellowed, his beefy hands wrapped around a glass and a suspect drying cloth.

“Louis!” came a chorus of shouts from the corners and shadows.

Apparently Louis was somewhat of a regular.

“Keep it in your pants, lads,” he teased, sliding up to the bar. Harry could do nothing but follow.

He felt awkward, out of place. First of all, he was wearing a fucking leopard print cashmere knee length coat. And skinny jeans.  And a sheer shirt. And next year’s YSL Chelseas. Probably should have gone with something a bit more subtle for an afternoon out at the neighborhood cinema. Second of all, Louis was clearly a local, part of the scenery here, but a standout—someone everyone knew, liked. Harry always felt like an outsider, an interloper. He never quite knew if people were trying to get to know him for his connections, his fame, or if they were really interested in him, what he had to say, who he was. He also never really felt like he fit, like he belonged, anywhere.

Louis seemed like he belonged everywhere. All at once.

“Ged us a coupla pints will ya Charlie?” Louis’s accent was thick, something else setting him apart from Harry. He’d all but lost his posh British enunciation, years of Hollywood taking off the shine of who he was, where he came from.

The barkeep, Charlie apparently, had the ale poured within seconds. Harry had barely blinked and the two fingerprinted mugs were placed before them, amber liquid sloshing out onto the sticky bar. “Yer a keeper, Charles!” Louis cheered, handing Harry one of the mugs.

Louis pushed off the bar, grabbing his own mug, and walked to one of the unoccupied corners, a small two person wonky table set there, as if it were waiting for them. Harry followed. Again.

Who was this boy and why was Harry suddenly following him everywhere?

They sat, Harry’s knees bumping Louis’ under the table. “Oh! Sorry,” Harry mumbled.

Louis smiled, bright and sparkly. “’S okay. You always this quiet?”

“Wha—’m not quiet.” Harry said indignantly.

“Sure ya are. Haven’t said more than five words to me.” Louis slurped his beer, some of the foam getting caught up in the auburn scruff lining his upper lip. Harry felt this urge to reach out and swipe it off, feel the searing heat of Louis’ skin under his thumb, then slip his thumb into his warm, wet mouth…

_Oh_. That went off the rails rather quickly.

It had been a long time since Harry had been with someone. Like _that_. And it was showing. In the way he looked at Louis, the things he was thinking about Louis.

Harry cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter, suddenly aware of how much he was leaning into Louis’ space. “Well that’s just because you’ve barely stopped to breathe. Can’t get a word in. Speaking of...”

Louis raised an eyebrow at Harry and wrapped his hands around the mug. His long-sleeved threadbare dark t-shirt slid off his shoulder. Harry could see the angular edge of a collarbone and golden tan skin. He forced himself to look away.

“Why were you so obnoxious back there? At the theater?” Harry said, changing the subject.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Louis replied haughtily, looking over his mug at Harry with piercing blue eyes. He shifted, nervously, but still maintaining eye contact. His eyes were so, so bright.

Harry gave him a crooked grin, feeling like he was maybe on to something, closer to figuring this enigma called Louis out. “I think you do. All that yelling and popcorn throwing?”

“You must have agreed with me then,” Louis said simply, taking another healthy gulp of his beer, eyes never leaving Harry’s, purposely evading the question. Harry couldn’t help but feel Louis was hiding something.

Harry stared back, the two of them at an impasse. Louis pressed on, “Well?”

“Hm? Oh! The movie, you mean?” Harry sipped his beer. He grimaced slightly at the acrid taste. He wasn’t much for beer.

“Yeah…the movie,” Louis said slowly, mocking Harry’s normally deep, precise tone.

Harry peeled his coat off his shoulders, careful not to let too much of it graze the floor. Who know when it had last been mopped, he thought, feeling the soles of his shoes stick to the grimy surface. “Not necessarily.”

Louis laughed, a light airy sound that rang out through the bar. “You walked out of a fairly crowded theater with me. With me! A stranger. I’m pretty sure that means you weren’t dying to wait it out, mate.”

Harry smiled, rolling his bottom lip between his fingers. “Well…” he drawled, “I didn’t say that was the first time I’d seen it…”

“You—y—you what? Who would sit through that utter shite more than once? What are you a masochist?” Louis sputtered, droplets of beer landing on the marred table between them.

Harry laughed. Louis was even cuter when he was incensed. “Come on. It wasn’t that bad.”

Louis opened his mouth and slapped his free hand down on the table, making their glasses shake and splash beer over the rims of the mugs. “Not that…not that bad? It was probably the worst piece of supposed entertainment that I’ve forced myself to sit through in decades. Decades! It was worse than that piece of crap movie _Strong_ that came out last year!”

Harry just stared at him. Really? He was going to make fun of his last film? His last Academy Award winning fucking film? “You didn’t—? You didn’t like _Strong_? Everyone liked _Strong_!”

Louis just waived his hand, essentially brushing him off. “Everyone. Who’s everyone? Some fat old farts from Hollywood? Honestly.”

Harry felt himself practically leave his body.  So, clearly this guy — this attractive, witty but rather annoying guy — didn’t know who he was. He gathered himself up and was just about to set the fucking record straight when the jukebox blared to life from the opposite corner of the room.

Louis stood up so abruptly the table jostled, threatening to nearly topple over. “Fuck! Love this song!” he exclaimed.

The first few lines of Donna Summer’s “MacArthur Park” whirred to life. Harry felt like he was getting whiplash as he watched Louis clamber to top of a nearby table, pretending to hold a microphone.

_Someone left the cake out in the rain_

_I don't think that I can take it_

Harry shook his head. This boy was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

But Harry couldn’t stop watching him.

***

Only half a beer in, Louis thought, and that’s all the liquid encouragement I need. Plus it was exactly the distraction he needed to keep Harry from asking him any more questions about why he was such a twat during the movie. He couldn’t very well say, “Well, I’m the sort that gets really nervous when I see a cute guy that I want to chat up so I act like a bloody fool to get his attention.” No. That wouldn’t do.

He felt bad attacking Harry about the movie—well, movies, actually—but once he got started he just couldn’t stop himself. He knew it was one of his more annoying traits, something he had a hard time turning off once he started. It was just that Harry was so attractive, so appealing to him in every way and he kind of lost the ability to filter himself.

He swiveled his hips a little and closed his eyes. Louis knew Harry was watching him, could feel his eyes on his body like lasers, burning hot and fierce all over him. He threw his head back and bellowed:

_MacArthur's Park is melting in the dark_

_All the sweet green icing flowing down_

Gathering all the oxygen in his lungs, Louis puffed up his chest and prepared for the grand finale. He didn’t have the chance to give Harry the proper show he planned because there was suddenly a blinding light shining in his face as the jukebox halted to an abrupt stop.

“Tommo! Told you this ain’t no karaoke bar. No singin’ allowed,” Charlie bellowed, wielding a high-powered industrial flashlight, “and get off the goddamned table. Fer Christssakes.”

Louis gave Charlie a winning smile, at least he thought it was, and hopped down. The light disappeared and the music came back on. This time it was Justin Bieber. Gross.

Harry clapped slowly. “That was…something,” he said slowly. Everything about him was slow. Louis found that incredibly sexy. He was starting to think, hope, that he did everything slowly. Louis would like to find out.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Louis bowed and grabbed their nearly empty mugs. “’Nother?”

Harry just watched him walking away, backwards, as he shook his head. Louis was used to getting what he wanted. And right now, he wanted Harry. He walked all the way to the bar backwards, watching Harry as he went. Harry’s eyes were on his and then they seemed to rove all over Louis’ body. Louis felt that telltale itch under his skin, the one that made him want to do something reckless. Something he may or may not regret tomorrow.

Louis came back with two icy mugs brimming with ale. He slid back into his seat and leveled Harry with a keen look.  “So. Harry. Besides liking crap movies, what else do you like?” Ugh.

Harry’s mouth open and closed before he said, “Those films really weren’t that bad. But…to answer your question….” He tilted his head to the side and looked off into the distance before finishing, “I dunno what I like. I’m…kinda busy with work most days.”

Louis watched Harry carefully. He noted the sudden sadness in his eyes and thought that just wouldn’t do. “Listen, Harry—crap movie lover extraordinaire—today there’s no work. Today there’s nothing from the outside world. Our real lives. Today it’s just me and you. And this bar. And these beers.” Raising his voice he added, “And better fucking music than Justin Bieber!”

“Fuck you Tommo!” came from the back room.

Harry laughed. Louis wanted to make him laugh like that all day if he could. He was beautiful when he laughed. Well, more beautiful than usual. And that was a whole lot. Plus, it was a rare day off from work, from his own problems—his past—and that made making Harry smile even more of a reward.

“Alright?” Louis asked, reaching over to place his hand on top of Harry’s larger one. He felt the warmth of Harry’s skin under his and was sure Harry could feel that tingling of energy that passed between them too.

Harry looked down at Louis’ hand and back up into his waiting eyes. Flipping his hand over so that they could lace their fingers together over the well-worn table he smiled. “Ok.”

***

“Jesus you’re a clumsy one, aren’t you?”

Harry laughed, or snorted, really, and tried to right himself. The dart in his hand wavered as he tried to focus on the yellow, red and green felt board across the room. “’M not clumsy. Just.  Ungainly.” Christ he was having fun. Louis was fun. It was fun being here, with Louis.

Louis guffawed and wrapped his body around the back of Harry’s, knees slotting into the back of Harry’s legs, right below the backs of his knees. Harry felt cold and then hot, his skin beneath his clothes suddenly too constricting, too heavy. The weight of Louis on his back was solid and reassuring and somehow it felt like everything falling into place.

That might have been the beer talking.

True to Louis’ word, they had spent the last three hours talking and drinking and laughing. Anytime something remotely connected to their lives outside of the dirty little pub came up, Louis changed the subject. Harry was beginning to realize that Louis was like that—mercurial in a way. He was quick witted and acerbic in a way most of Harry’s friends weren’t. He also had this underlying sense of genuineness that ran through everything he said and did. When a song came on that Louis didn’t like (anything by Justin Bieber and practically any music made in the eighties), everyone knew about it. When he talked about his favorite kind of pizza (extra cheese, bacon and olives), his eyes lit up and Harry could almost taste what he described so vividly.

He was _alive_.

And it was positively electrifying.

Harry’s friends in Hollywood or London were always talking about what social event they were going to or had gone to. They were always name dropping and designer flaunting. They were never really what Harry would have considered good friends. More like…people to pass the time with. He had his family, sure, but he rarely ever saw them, work kept him so busy.

The other thing Harry was coming to realize about Louis was that he was a massive flirt. Massive. Everything he did was underpinned with innuendo. Every look or flash of those intelligent aquamarine eyes danced with promise. Harry was transfixed by the soft pink colour of his lips and the way the light caught the auburn in his hair, his scruff.

He hadn’t felt this way about someone in a long time.

“Harold. What did I tell you? Aim and then throw,” Louis reprimanded.

Harry shook his head, laughing as Louis sputtered behind him, dramatically huffing Harry’s long curls out of his face. “I did…” he whined, absolutely delighted by the fact that Louis was still plastered to his back.

“If that’s how you aim, stud, I’d hate to be on the receiving end when it counts.” Louis’ voice was low and raspy in Harry’s ear. It reminded Harry of the sound of a zester running across the bright edge of a ripe lemon.

Harry shivered. “I um…I…”

Louis released him and laughed, loud and braying. “Just kidding Harry. Really. Does no one joke around with you? Sheesh!”

And then he was gone, scampering away toward the bar, presumably to get more drinks. As Harry caught his breath, because he was breathless from the spritely man that had held him captive all afternoon, he realized two things. One: no, no one ever did joke around with him. And that was because he was always the boss. The one in charge. So…it felt like everyone was always holding back a little, never quite including him or letting go around him.

And two: he was getting hard. He was hard. Half hard, anyway. And if Louis kept it up, whispering in his ear and rubbing his body on Harry’s in all the right places, well, then…he couldn’t be responsible for his actions. Well, at least not his dick’s.

***

Louis walked slowly back to the dart room. He could see Harry exactly where he left him, pigeon-toed and staring at the tattered dart board as if it held all the secrets to the universe.  The afternoon was going swimmingly, if he did say so himself. It had slowly morphed into evening, and Louis was hoping it would continue to progress at this pace.

Not only was Harry unbelievably sweet and considerate—he fucking _stood_ until Louis sat down, who the fuck does that anymore?—but he was also gorgeous. Long and lean and wiry but with just enough soft curve to his frame to make Louis want to touch him, hold on to him, see what he felt like underneath him…

But, he was getting ahead of himself.

Again.

Earlier, Louis had noticed that Harry seemed to get almost melancholy when talking about his life outside of Charlie’s, tucked away in the tiny corner of London on a forgotten street, heads close together as they shared stories with their eyes and lingering touches. It made Louis’ heart break to think of someone as sensitive and completely open as Harry to feel sad about anything. He himself had spent too much time feeling sad over things that he just couldn’t change. And it wasn’t worth it. Louis was sure it had to do with Harry’s job, but Louis had forbid him to speak of it today. Today was about getting to know each other and finding magic in the possibility of meeting someone new at the cinema, of all places.

And if that weren’t the strangest part of this entire day, Louis thought. Meeting Harry in that dark theater had felt like watching a flower open at dawn, full of promise and inevitability. Sort of like it was meant to be.  

One of the things Louis did all day, every day, was anticipate the actions of others. As a teacher, he knew how to get the most out of his students. And sometimes that meant distracting them so that they didn’t know they were learning. Watching Harry all day felt sort of like that. He felt like maybe he was helping Harry get away from something he didn’t even know he needed a break from. And that felt like hope to Louis.

Once upon a time Louis had been sad and lonely. He wished there was someone like Harry to pick him up, keep him distracted, even if it was only for a day. No matter now, he thought to himself, he was here now and with Harry, probably one of the most intriguing and beautiful men he’d met in a long time. He was going to make today count.

“Here you go King Harold,” Louis announced his presence with a flourish, settling Harry’s vodka gimlet in front of him. They had switched to hard alcohol the hour before because Louis was starting to feel bloated. Not that he’d tell Harry that! Never. He told Harry that life was an adventure. Meant to live! Live! Live! Which was as good a reason as any to start downing vodka.

“Thanks Prince Louis.” Harry’s voice was deep and melodic. Louis felt like he could listen to him forever. It was sensual and warm, a bit like dark chocolate and fresh baked honey bread.

“That’s Queen Louis to you, good sir,” Louis said with a curtsy.

Harry snorted and bowed his head, playing along.

“What? I can’t be Queen to your King?” Louis asked incredulously.

Harry looked at Louis intently, staring into his wide eyes first and then slowly looking down his face, lingering over his lips and then down his torso and beyond. Louis felt like he might burst into flames. Being the object of Harry’s scrutiny was maddening in the best way.

“You can be my Queen any day,” Harry said lewdly.

The two of them stared at each other for a beat and then burst out laughing. “Was that your attempt at seduction?” Louis shrieked, falling into Harry’s broad chest. And that was… _oh_. Harry was muscular underneath that ridiculous sheer white shirt of his. And he smelled good. Better than Louis remembered from just a few moments ago. Almost like his smell had…multiplied. And that, _that_ was stupid. Because smells don’t multiply, but Louis could swear that’s what happened.

“You—you smell nice,” Louis heard himself say dreamily.  Harry smelled like lemons and peppermint, clean and familiar.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered hoarsely.

For a second they stared into each other’s eyes and Louis could swear, could absolutely _swear_ , that the world slowed down. In that moment all that Louis could see, could hear, could feel was Harry. This tall, beautiful, complex and sort of everything-Louis-could-ever-want-in-a-man was surrounding him in every way. It was like something out of a movie. Where the edges went hazy and the world was this blur of everything too fast (or was it too slow?) and all that Louis could focus on was Harry and the way his lips looked full and sweet and his eyes looked like tide pools swirling with lily pads and pale turquoise that glittered in the dimly lit room. And Louis wanted everything in the world to be like this forever so that all he would ever do, for the rest of time, was be held by Harry and looked at _like this_ by Harry.

“I—um…” Harry croaked.

Louis could smell beer and lime on his breath and it was possibly the best combination ever. “Hm?”

Louis felt Harry’s big hands wrap more firmly around his hips as he pulled him even closer. Louis’ hands were spread across Harry’s pectoral muscles and he could feel the almost sharp poke of nipples from beneath the sheer fabric of his shirt. Harry gave Louis one of those crooked smiles of his before finally speaking, “Can I kiss you Queen Louis?”

Louis giggled and wriggled even closer, looking from Harry’s smooth wet lips to his hooded eyes. “I wish you would King Harold.”

Harry looked down at Louis and licked his lips slowly. Slowly, excruciatingly so, he bent down to bring their lips together. Louis held his breath. This. This was his favorite. That moment right before the first kiss with someone. And, with Harry, it felt like he’d been waiting forever.

The first light press of Harry’s lips felt like flying to Louis. It felt like soaring high above the earth on a cloud of spun sugar. It was definitely worth the wait. Harry was gentle, so, so gentle. And Louis was positively spinning. And not just from the alcohol. For how gentle Harry was, Louis was nearly frantic with the need for more. More from Harry, more from this moment. He pushed himself closer so that he could feel the way Harry’s solid thighs felt on his and the sharp jut of his hip bones pressing into Louis’ tummy.

Harry tilted his head and controlled the kiss with one hand that crept up Louis’ quivering back and into the longer strands of hair at the back of his neck. He held Louis firm and licked softly along the seam of his lips. Louis moaned at that, the sweet tickly feeling of Harry’s tongue bringing Louis just the lightest feeling of pleasure and happiness. Louis opened to Harry and their tongues touched briefly as their mouths moved together.

To Louis, kissing Harry felt like stretching out on a big, warm, fluffy bed after a long day. But it also felt like running so hard and so fast your lungs burned and legs ached with the taut anticipation of finishing the race. It was both comforting and exhilarating at once. Something about the familiarity of Harry’s lips along with the intoxicating buzz that Louis felt deep inside his chest felt a bit like chasing cold away from the wintry corners of his soul. Louis wanted this feeling to last, perhaps for as long as forever. He could kiss Harry forever, that was for sure. He was sure that he could. He’d like to try, anyway.

***

Louis was so fucking cute. Harry was kind of lost in it, the way he crinkled his nose when he tried to stifle a laugh and the way his wrists looked delicate and strong at the same time while he gesticulated to the wild stories he told. So when the opportunity presented itself, and it did—in the form of Louis practically falling on top of him—Harry decided to take it.

The first taste of Louis was like nothing Harry had ever experienced in his short time on earth. He’d traveled the globe for his work and had tried exotic foods and drunk expensive wines. He’d had his fair share of kisses in his life, both boys and girls, but Louis…Louis was an entirely new experience altogether.

Kissing Louis was like chasing fireflies on a summer night. That feeling of endless glee trapped in the pit of your stomach while the glow danced around you and you could taste the humid night air that bathed your skin in lightness and adventure. That’s what kissing Louis was like.

And Christ, his body. His body was _unreal_.

Harry had noticed little things about Louis all afternoon. The way his jeans clung to the perfectly symmetrical curve of his arse...The way his stomach muscles clenched beneath the snug t-shirt when he laughed or wriggled around on a barstool, leaving Harry feeling thirsty and desperate. The way he couldn’t sit still. Harry wanted to see if that was true always. Like if he were to drag him into the bathroom right now, shove him face first against the cold metal of the stall, drop to his knees and…

_Kissing Louis_.

He had also noticed other things about Louis as the afternoon went on. Things like how he never talked about himself, how he always managed to change the subject so it was Harry talking, Harry explaining the little nuances of his life. Harry saw the sadness that lingered around Louis’ eyes when Harry had talked about his mum and sister, back home in Cheshire, and how Louis skillfully avoided that topic of conversation as well. Harry felt like there was something there, something just beneath the surface that Louis was keeping hidden away, locked up tight and inside himself. Harry wanted to pry that part open, peek inside and help Louis let maybe a little bit of it go. But he was just spending the day with him. One day out of a thousand or more. It wasn’t meant to be anything more. Was it?

_Kissing Louis_.

Harry pushed Louis up against the wood paneled wall, releasing him from his arms but keeping him trapped with his hips and chest, groin barely skimming the smaller boy’s. Harry slapped a firm hand on the wall next to Louis’ head and dove back in. Louis’ mouth was this wonderland of a place—warm and clean and erotic, what with his tongue doing that twisty thing against Harry’s. Harry groaned and finally gave in to the temptation. He ground forward experimentally, driving a tortured moan from Louis, capturing it in his own mouth. Their hips pushed against one another, grinding, and Harry thought he could black out from the perfection of it all.

He was helpless. Louis had him captivated. And he willingly offered himself, his body, to Louis and whatever Louis was willing to give.

***

Louis was swimming with the feeling of Harry’s body on his. He felt small and trapped and it was exactly what he wanted. Harry was slowly losing any sense of control that he’d held on to all afternoon. And Louis loved it. Louis found that he’d been craving it, without really even knowing it.

He wrapped his arms up around Harry’s neck and opened his mouth more to the kiss. They were full on making out now, pulling these hot desperate sounds from each other, the wet slide of tongues and lips muted by the sound of Bon Jovi blaring from the jukebox in the other room. The room was empty, thank God, Louis thought, because things were getting fairly indecent quickly.

The loud clunk of glasses sliding together rang out in the dark room, startling Louis, making him pull away from the lure of Harry’s sinful mouth with a rather loud slurp.

“Get a room!” A loud raspy voice sounded way too close to Louis’ ear.

Louis opened his eyes and stared at Harry’s bewildered face. He slowly turned to look at Ginny, Charlie’s one and only, rather offensive, waitress. Harry hid his face in Louis’ neck and his body started to shake with laughter.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a real cock blocker, Ginny?” Louis snarked at the tiny little woman wiping down their table.

“All the time sugar. Ain’t the first. Ain’t the last,” she groused. Her crazy hair was frizzy with curls and held back with a red bandana. She stood less than five feet tall and even with all of her hair she only came up to Louis’ chin. But Louis knew better than to mess with her.

“Ginny, I’d like to introduce you to Harry. King Harry, if you will,” Louis said in an imperious voice, squeezing Harry’s shoulder, prompting the taller man to finally look down at Ginny and back out of Louis’ space enough to be decent.

“Pleasure, Ginny,” Harry said, his voice deeper than ever, sounding just as affected as Louis was.

Ginny put her tray down and squinted her eyes at Harry as she sized him up. “Hey,” she drawled, “I know you! You—you’re—”

“He’s thirsty damnit!” Louis shouted quickly, loudly. “Barmaid, fetch us a drink!”

Ginny smacked at him with her dirty damp cloth. “Shut up you snot. Get your own drink!” she shouted back, grabbing her tray and leaving the room, muttering obscenities not quite under her breath the entire way.

Louis was aware of the fact that Harry was still bracketing his body with his longer frame, keeping Louis effectively in place. “Well. That was pleasant.”

Harry snickered and looked down at Louis, who was casually leaning up against the wall, trying to look cool but afraid he was anything but. He was hot, to be honest. Really hot. Burning up with the way Harry was looking at him and standing so damn close.

“You wanna get out of here?” Harry whispered against Louis’ throat.

Louis felt his eyes roll into the back of his head. Christ did he ever. “Yes. Yes, please,” he murmured, craning his neck just a bit more so Harry could reach it, if he wanted to.

Harry teased him, though, as he ran his nose up the column of his neck and ended at his ear, breath hot and insistent, “Lead the way,” he said, his voice a deep rumble traveling straight to Louis’ groin.

Louis couldn’t move fast enough.

***

What the actual fuck was he doing? What. The. Fuck. Was he doing?

Harry never picked strangers up and went home with them. Never. It was one of those things that publicists warn people like Harry against. You never know what could happen, they said. Things could go wrong, they cautioned.

Harry felt like nothing could possibly go wrong in this situation with Louis. Nothing. Everything was right, was the thing. Louis was right. It felt right. They’d only known each other a few hours but Harry felt free in a way that he rarely ever did. Louis seemed to just get him.

This time, Harry led Louis. He led him right out of the bar and up the stairs, down the alley and out to the street. Afternoon had faded to a brilliant crisp autumn night and the street was busy with people taking in the rare gorgeous weather in London.

“My flat…it’s just up here,” Louis said, wrapping his arms around himself. Harry started to pull off his coat to give it to Louis. “Don’t be ridiculous, Harold. That thing would drag to the ground if I wore it. And don’t think I didn’t notice how weird you were about keeping it off the floor at the bar.”

Harry laughed and pulled Louis close to him. “We’ll just have to share body heat then.”

Louis hummed and cuddled in closer, Harry’s arm protective and warm around his shoulders. They walked slowly down the street and suddenly Harry started to feel aware of the fact that people out here, out in the world beyond the cozy little bubble they’d built for themselves in the pub, could recognize him. Actually, _would_ recognize him. He felt a small flicker of panic rise in his chest.

It’s not like he hadn’t been truthful with Louis. He just hadn’t admitted that he was who he was. Not just the director of the two films Louis seemed hell-bent on verbally decimating, but the fact that he was a world-famous director who had gained popularity not just because of his films but because he was out as a gay man in Hollywood and very outspoken about the fact. Harry had been on the cover of more magazines than he could count, half of them gay publications lauding his efforts at advocacy on behalf of the community.

Harry was really kind of famous.  And Louis didn’t seem to know it.

Harry took a deep breath and swallowed thickly. He needed to tell Louis.

It was only fair.

***

God fucking damnit. Why was Harry so sweet? Louis snuggled in close to him, already so familiar with his scent and the way his body felt next to his. Why had it been so easy? It was just…like something out of a movie, is what it was. The entire afternoon was. Not like something out of one of Harry’s movies, though, that’s for sure.

And there it was. Louis _had_ recognized Harry in the dark movie theater right away. Of course he had. He’d long been following Harry’s career. Ever since he was listed as _Out_ magazine’s number one most influential gay director under thirty three years ago. Louis knew all along that Harry had directed that atrocious film they’d both been watching earlier. He’d known it all along and never said anything. He felt so deceitful as they walked slowly through the night, closing in on his flat.   

He knew Harry was a famous director and he’d pretended not to just so he could…what? Spend time with him?

It sounded so stupid in his head now. Now that some of the alcohol had faded and they were out in the fresh air, away from the magic of Norm’s basement bar. It seemed ludicrous. Because Louis was Louis and Harry was…well. Harry was Harry Styles.

Louis felt his heart skip a beat.

_Harry Styles._

Louis wanted Harry. Desperately. But not just for one night. He wanted to get to know him. The real Harry, the Harry he’d caught glimpses of all day. The Harry he’d sort of idolized for his compassion, his amazing spirit, all these years. The Harry he’d read about in those magazines. Harry the activist, Harry the man with the big voice that had been quieted to a whisper.

He had to tell him. He couldn’t, in good conscience, take Harry home and not tell him. Fuck.

He had to tell him.

***

The walk to Louis’ place was short. Only two quick blocks. Barely enough time to talk about the weather. Harry could feel his palms sweating and a slow trickle of perspiration ran down his spine. He was nervous. Fucking nervous over admitting who he was. He had spoken in front of millions of people at award ceremonies and had never felt this nervous. He had spoken to the damn U.N. about the importance of global protection for LBGT people and hadn’t been this nervous.

But he was nervous now.

Louis must have sensed it because he was more fidgety than ever, twitching a bit as he fumbled with the key to his place. Harry felt horrible. Suddenly this magical, amazing day had turned into a complete cluster fuck because he hadn’t told him the truth earlier.

Maybe he should just leave. Louis would probably want him to leave after he told him, Harry thought. Louis was this lighter than air almost mythical creature. What would he want with someone like Harry after he found out the truth? The truth that he was a blockbuster Hollywood director who had been relegated to making hit after hit when really, all he wanted to do was make a difference, a real difference in the world. Make small independent films that told stories about real people with real lives…instead he was tied to a studio that used his talent and exploited his popularity as an advocate to sell films. He wanted to be a voice. Tell a story with his own voice. Not someone else’s.

It was sickening is what it was. Louis wouldn’t have any interest in him once he found out.

Harry watched Louis walk inside and start up the stairs. For a brief moment Harry was mesmerized by the sway of his hips and the tiny flash of bare ankle that peeked out when Louis moved his legs. Louis turned around and looked at him questioningly, “Coming?”

It felt like ages ago that Louis said that in the darkness of the buttered popcorn, chocolate scented movie theater.

“I…”

The door snicked shut behind him, leaving Harry in shadow and Louis bathed in the light from the lamppost outside. Louis was just a few feet ahead of him but he felt like miles away. “Harry?”

“I don’t think I should,” Harry said slowly, sadness leaking from the edges of his voice like rain sliding down a window pane.

Louis took a step forward, down one stair, and faltered. “Why?” he questioned hesitantly.

Harry’s mind was racing and he was struggling to collect his thoughts. He wanted to be honest. Be clear. But he was rebelling against it. He just didn’t know if he was ready to give Louis up yet. He wasn’t even his and he didn’t want to give him up. Why was his life such a tragedy?

***

Despite the darkness, Louis could see the bright green of Harry’s eyes shimmering below him. The fucking hall light was always burnt out. Damn super hadn’t replaced it despite Louis’ complaints. Of course.

The more important thing here, the more _infinitely_ important thing was why Harry was wavering. Why had he stopped before he even got to Louis’ door?

“Harry? I…” Louis felt the words crawl up his throat and coat his tongue, preparing to slip out of his mouth without his consent.

Harry looked at him sorrowfully, his full mouth turned down and the adorable crease between his eyes deeper than ever. It was a look of disappointment. Louis knew that look well. He saw it on his student’s day in and day out. They were disappointed in a world that had let them down. The other schools, the other teachers, that never stood up for them, never cared enough to make sure that they knew they were safe, that they were equal, loved, _respected_.

It was a look, a feeling, Louis was far too intimate with himself. He’d seen it on his own parents’ faces for several long weeks before he fled that small house in the suburbs and left behind the only family he’d ever known, an outcast. All because of who he was.

Louis’ job as a private school teacher for gay, lesbian and transgendered students didn’t pay much in cash, but what it paid in earned trust and self-esteem, in fucking _dignity_ , was enough to make him a very, very rich man.

Part of why Louis had always been such a fan, such a supporter, of Harry Styles was because he was out in an industry that often kept people so far in the closet it was impossible for them to ever see the light of day. Harry had always been vocal about gay rights, especially when it came to the rights and issues pertaining to gay youth. Louis had wished there was someone like Harry when he was coming up. Harry was a beacon, a light, for kids like Louis’ students to look up to, someone they could aspire to be, admire and maybe even emulate someday. Be who they were meant to be.

Which is why Louis was so rude at the movie theater earlier, if he was honest with himself. He knew Harry could do so much more with his talent, with his influence. And just by talking to Harry today Louis knew that Harry knew that about himself too. He was better than the blockbusters that made the studios money—he had the potential to truly be a voice, a voice for a generation of kids who were silenced. Louis wanted that for Harry. He wanted it for everyone. To be who they truly were. Be true to themselves.

He wanted it for himself.

“Harry. I know who you are,” Louis whispered, at the same time as Harry spoke. Which. “What? What did you say?”

Harry stepped from foot to foot, awkward, uneasy. “What did you say?” He mimicked, both men looking at each other warily. “You first.” Harry said slowly, walking closer to Louis.

Louis stood on the second step, just a hair taller than Harry in this position. “I said ‘I know who you are’.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth and closed it quickly. He ran a hand over his eyes and looked up at Louis, expression guarded. “So you—you know?”

Louis nodded his head and tilted it to the side. Harry was acting strange. “What did you say?”

“Nothing. I—I’ll just…” he stammered as he started to head backward to the door.

“Harry! No! Harry. Wait!” Louis hopped down the stairs and grabbed for Harry’s hand.

Harry reached for Louis at the same time and they tangled their fingers together, relief passing quickly from Harry’s touch to Louis’. “You. You know who I am, so I’m sure you don’t…”

Louis shook his head.  “No. What—what were you going to say?”

Harry looked at Louis, their eyes locked. “Just that, I wasn’t who you thought.”

“You’re exactly who I thought you were, Harry. Exactly. And I…” Louis moved closer so that their shoes touched and he could feel the warmth of Harry’s body on his again. “I know exactly who you are.” His voice was quiet, sincere and he hoped Harry could hear everything that he was saying.

Harry looked surprised for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Louis grinned then, finally himself, not a version of himself, his true self. “Yeah.”

Harry smiled back, a beautiful blinding smile that Louis wanted to get lost in. He wanted to make Harry smile like that again. And again. And then again a whole bunch more. Louis could see the set of Harry’s shoulders and the way his body seemed to melt. He was just Harry now. Not Harry Styles who everyone wanted a piece of. Not Harry Styles that mega blockbuster director. He was Harry. Just Harry. Someone that could be family. One day, someday, to someone. Maybe even to Louis.

“Wanna come up?” Louis asked, gesturing over his shoulder, already leading the way.

Harry looked down at their clasped hands and at Louis’ back as he started back up the stairs.  He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Louis knew he was right behind him.

***

“Pop-pop?”

“Hm?” Harry licked the tip of his finger, testing the icing. Needs more almond extract, he thought absently.

“Pop-pop!” Owen, his six year old grandson, was pulling on his sweater insistently.

Harry dropped down into the chair next to the counter so that he could look into Owen’s bright blue eyes. Just like his grandpa’s. “Yes, Owen. I’m sorry. What is it?”

“How did you and grandpa meet again?” Owen reached out to sample the sugary icing that filled the robin egg blue bowl between them. Harry smiled at him as he put his chubby fingers in his sweet little mouth.

“He doesn’t want to talk about it again, Owen. God. You’re an idiot.”

“Olivia!” Harry chided, giving his oldest granddaughter a stern look. Olivia climbed into the chair across from Harry, looking properly chastised, but still interested. She picked up a knife and swirled it through the frosting, looking up at Harry for permission. He nodded silently and slid the plate of sugar cookies across the table at her.

“Well, Owen, it was like this…” Harry began, opening his arms so Owen could climb into his lap.

Owen cuddled up, sniffing the collar of Harry’s shirt loudly. Harry smiled. Owen always told him how he liked that he smelled like sweet stuff and Louis, his other grandfather, smelled sour. Harry liked to rub that one in Louis’ face. Often.

“We met in a movie theater.”

Just then, Louis breezed in. He stopped at the fridge and pulled out a can of carbonated water. Harry had made him cut out soda and caffeine last year when his blood pressure had gone up just a few points too high. “Not really, Harold.”

Harry frowned and shook his head, smoothing a large hand over Owen’s tiny back. Olivia giggled. “Here we go again,” she said.

“We met in a stairwell,” Louis said loudly, plopping into the chair Owen had recently vacated. It scraped along the oak floor, earning him another frown from his husband.

“It was a movie theater,” Harry said quietly, already rocking Owen to sleep. Owen was too big for afternoon naps but something about being in Harry’s arms, wrapped up warm and safe, always put him to sleep. Louis always said he could relate.

“No, Harry. It was the stairwell of that old flat of mine on Grove.” Louis smirked, he loved getting Harry riled up like this.

The thing was, they were both right. They met in two places that day.

Every time the subject of how they met came up it was a point of contention. Louis told his version of it with an air of silliness, hand motions and innuendo. Harry’s version was a bit more subdued, with symbolic metaphors, poetic phrasings and meaningful glances. But, they differed in opinion on exactly where they met.

Olivia placed the last cookie on the plate. “Pop-pop says you met in the movie theater because that’s where you first saw each other.” She gave Louis a pointed look. “And Grandpa says you met in the stairwell because that’s where you were finally able to be yourselves,” Olivia finished, using the same tone her mother used to use when correcting her father years ago at this same kitchen table.

Both men smiled at their twelve-year-old granddaughter and blindly reached for each other, hands clasping on the worn tabletop. Owen snuffled and shifted on Harry’s lap, sound asleep. Louis spoke first, “That’s right, love. That’s exactly how it happened.” He didn’t look at Olivia when he spoke, his eyes were locked with Harry’s. The gray hairs, wrinkles and years had changed the way the looked but inside they were the same frightened boys that found each other all those years ago.

The difference now, though, was that they weren’t scared any longer and they weren’t alone. Louis found a way to help Harry find his strength, leaving the big studio behind so he could make films that told a story, a story he wanted to tell. And Harry found a way to help Louis find his way back to his estranged family and repair the broken bonds that were caused by ignorance and hurt feelings. Over the years they became more and more who they were meant to be, making each other stronger.

Olivia smiled at her grandfathers, sliding the iced cookies across the table. “I like when you guys tell the story better, though.”

Harry tore his eyes away from Louis’, his heart beating just a little faster at the way his husband looked at him, _always_ looked at him. “Yeah, you do?”

Louis grabbed a cookie with his free hand. “Of course she does, Harold. But we don’t have all day, so, we’ll just have to be happy that she’s heard it all before.”

Harry grinned at Olivia and Olivia chuckled, dropping the knife into the empty bowl. Owen’s breathing filled the small cozy kitchen. Louis pushed back from the table and ambled toward the living room. It was just about 3:00 and they always watched Harry’s gardening show at this time of day. Owen would sleep on Harry’s lap and Olivia would stretch out on the floor and play with her phone. Their parents would pick them up in an hour and it would all start over again tomorrow. It was a good life.

Louis looked over his shoulder and called out to Harry, “You coming?”

Harry smiled to himself. He got up, slower than he used to, and followed Louis. Of course he did. He would follow Louis anywhere. Always.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey! Did you like it? Leave a note! I read every one of the comments left on my work and it means a lot to me! Thanks for reading!


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